Archives for the month of: June, 2014

Snapshot_20140625Four and twenty flew out of a pie on the glossy sleeve of my Cadbury’s Nursery Rhymes LP, so when I see blackbirds I still smell vinyl and think of chocolate.

A pair of them live greedily in the raspberry thicket, gloating and fruity in warble. I ignore them, they’ve already won – little white cores hang where berries should be.

Every dawn and every dusk, a song thrush sings. She beaks through the wood-chip and pauses, tilting her head. Then she stands on the log with her back to the sun spreading first her tail and then each wing, pulsing in the heat.

Freckled. Brown. Basking.

And the garden-table shadow lattice creeps across the ground.



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